


Pura Vida

by PrincessMattiNorTheFirst



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Fluff and Angst, M/M, PTSD Derek (in denial), PTSD Stiles, Post Season 4, Road Trips, Yoga, Zen Derek, mentions of Liam, mentions of Malia, mentions of Parrish, mentions of Peter, mentions of Scott - Freeform, mentions of kira
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-03-29 06:58:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3886672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessMattiNorTheFirst/pseuds/PrincessMattiNorTheFirst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles, looking for help, tracks Derek down to Costa Rica, but the Derek he finds is not the one he remembers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fanfiction, so I apologize if I have tagged it incorrectly! I have read some Sterek, but not even close to the amount that's out there, so I also apologize if a lot of this has been done before (which I'm sure it has). This was the story in my brain at the moment, though, and for some reason I had to tell it...I am not yet sure if I'm going to continue, even though the story leaves room for continuation. I hope you enjoy!

    

                Stiles was not surprised to find Derek shirtless and sweaty.

                He would not have been at all surprised to find shirtless, sweaty Derek chained up to a fence. Shirtless, sweaty Derek lying on the ground writhing in pain. Shirtless, sweaty Derek trapped in some sort of a box, or even just shirtless, sweaty Derek working out in a dark corner. Shirtless, sweaty Derek hanging out in the woods would have seemed totally normal. Stiles had feared the first few possibilities; after traipsing through the Costa Rican jungle for what felt like days, he’d allowed his imagination to run away with him, and he’d struggled to control his breathing as he entered the clearing, wondering if he could actually handle what he would find.

                So it was not shirtless, sweaty Derek that was the surprise. It was so hot, Stiles himself was super sweaty and might have even considered going shirtless if he wasn’t so sure he would burn to a crisp. And, hell, the only time Stiles could remember Derek having all of his clothes on was in that damn swimming pool, and Stiles would have taken them off himself if he could’ve moved his arms after holding Derek up for 18 hours.

                The surprise, then, was that shirtless, sweaty Derek – dressed only in loose, soft, gray athletic shorts that reached just above his knees – appeared to be teaching yoga to a group of about fifteen beautiful women on a private beach in a corner of Costa Rica. Stiles’ mouth dropped open as his arms flailed next to him.

                “You have got to be kidding me,” he muttered to himself, suddenly angry. Stiles spent several months trying to track down this idiot, thinking he was probably dead, no one else giving a crap because they were too busy running around in circles to notice anything but the newest Beacon Hills “monster of the day,” and now here was Derek, barefoot in the sand, adjusting someone’s downward dog.

                Stiles had to admit that Derek looked good. Healthy. Tanned and toned, the triskelion tattoo shimmering as he bent over one of the women and moved her hips. Stiles had known for a long time that he found Derek attractive, but he really didn’t know what to do with that information, or know what it meant about him, so he always tried to push it away. Stiles focused now on the fact that Derek also looked kind of creepy. Stiles could practically see the drool coming out of these women’s mouths and the idea of what that might mean sent shivers of disgust through his body.

                It took Derek a good few minutes to notice Stiles – apparently, a dirty, scraped up stranger appearing out of the woods doesn’t disrupt yoga practice – but when he did, he stood stock still for a moment, locked eyes with Stiles, and then opened up into a smile that could only be described as “radiantly disturbing.”

                Stiles looked around to see what Derek was smiling at, realizing it was him only when Derek appeared in front of him and wrapped him in a bizarre, loose, back-patting embrace. Stiles did not hug back, and almost wriggled free. The embrace was fortunately a short one. There was something alien about this Derek, except for the way he smelled, which was overpoweringly familiar (and somewhat intoxicating) at once. That thought was unnerving to Stiles. What was he doing here again?

                “Stiles, my friend. Welcome to Costa Rica,” Derek said, still smiling, his hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “We’re just finishing class and then we have lunch. You’re welcome to join us.”

                Stiles didn’t say anything, just gestured with his arms, several times, as if to say, “WTF?” About a million things went through Stiles’ mind in approximately 30 seconds. Had Derek been reverse Nogitsu-ned? Had Stiles ever seen Derek smile before? Why was Derek acting like it was not odd for Stiles to appear walking out of the Costa Rican jungle, covered in sweat and dirt and bug bites and blood? Was sourwolf a yoga guru? What the hell was going on?

                “I’ll be right back, Stiles. Just hang out a minute,” Derek said, squeezing Stiles’ shoulder, as if Stiles had anywhere to go. Derek went back to his class. “Now everyone, lie on your backs for shavasana, and I will guide you through a brief meditation…” Stiles lost the thread of Derek’s weirdly monotonous voice as he searched the past year in his memory.

                Was Derek like this before he left Beacon Hills? Stiles had to be honest with himself and say that although he knew Derek seemed more peaceful, he hadn’t really noticed much of anything those last few months before Mexico. There was the whole possession thing. And then Allison’s death, and the girlfriend and the killers-for-hire stalking his friends and the money problems and the Mexican kidnapping adventures and Derek had sort of been there for all of it, but sort of not. Stiles had gotten used to Derek disappearing/returning/almost dying, and then repeating, ad nauseam. But now it had been over a year since that cycle stopped, and Stiles was not quite certain when Derek had become a serene yoga bunny.

                Stiles had heard about the full wolf thing, of course. They had all heard about it – over and over- but only Parrish had seen it. Parrish. Of all people. The guy was around for two weeks and then got to see what had to be the coolest thing to have happened since all the supernatural bull started? Actually, probably one of the coolest things ever. Stiles was glad he didn’t actually have to think Derek was dead for any amount of time – although when Derek insisted Stiles go after Scott, the situation didn’t look good, but Stiles had shoved it out of his mind. Even so, the idea of a dead Derek coming back to life by leaping into action as a strong, gorgeous black wolf? Stiles couldn’t deny the cinematic nature of that image, couldn’t help but hear the _Star Wars_ or _Pirates_ themes as he imagined it. And then there was the naked part of it – Stiles got rid of that thought every time it crossed his mind.

                Derek had said something about evolving, but honestly, the debrief in Mexico was so short, and Stiles so confused and perplexed by his own anger with the whole “save Scott at all costs” mentality that he didn’t really get a feel for what was going on. Stiles remembered seeing Derek alive and well, feeling a rush of electric energy, hearing about the wolf, watching Derek ignore him and clap Scott on the shoulder, as if Scott were the only one who mattered. Stiles remembered the taste of blood on his lip as he shocked himself by biting it, when what he really wanted was to say something to Derek but not being able to because he was rooted to the spot and angry, angry that Derek seemed to be leaving them, seemed to be leaving them without saying a damn word to Stiles. Stiles remembered being very surprised by the way he felt, which was similar to the way he was feeling now. Stiles remembered Derek getting into the white van with the pretty killer-for-hire, and Stiles remembered that being the last time he saw Derek, until now.

                Parrish was pretty much useless in explaining what happened in Mexico, except for the wolf thing. Parrish was pretty much useless in general. Nice, sweet guy, but also running around in circles (like everyone else) and pretending not to be. Stiles rejected the idea that just because someone was older they knew more about things, especially the supernatural, which Parrish had been exposed to for about fifteen minutes. Parrish, unfortunately, accepted that idea, and tried to offer guidance that amounted to nothing but platitudes. These bits of guidance were quickly followed by Stiles doing extra Google research to find the actual facts. Scott also tried to offer guidance, because he was the alpha and now the “expert.” Sometimes Stiles’ dad would interject and try to rein everyone in, while Lydia walked around bewildered, Liam angry, Kira confused, and Malia…Well, Malia. Stiles couldn’t think about Malia anymore. He just couldn’t. As the weight of the past few years had finally settled on Stiles, it had crushed anything that was once there with Malia. It had not ended well. She did not understand.

                So, yes, Stiles rejected the notion that being an adult meant you understood everything. You knew more if you did the work to learn more, you understood more if you experienced more and let those experiences shape you. Stiles would acknowledge that being older meant that you had more time to do these things, even in Parrish’s case, but he also knew from his brain research - from when he thought his own brain was deteriorating – that your brain was now thought to still be forming until 25, especially in the pre-frontal cortex, and lord he hoped Parrish was 25-or-under, for Lydia’s sake. So that didn’t give Parrish much of an advantage. Derek was under 25, too, but Derek was different. Derek knew something about the supernatural. They needed help plugging up that hole that kept letting crazy creatures into Beacon Hills. Derek could help plug that hole, Stiles was sure, or had been sure. (“Hey guys, who knows about the supernatural?” Stiles had said. “The Hales? Where are other Hales? No one knows? How about the Argents? Oh, no one knows where they are, either? Okay, then, great, awesome. You guys are ever so helpful.” No one listened to Stiles, and so Stiles set off on his search, frustrated by the seeming ineptitude of his peers.)

                Derek. Now he was here, and Stiles wondered if he had perhaps romanticized Derek, who, truth be told, had not been all that helpful in Beacon Hills, but also ended up always being there when needed in some way. At least Derek was someone who seemed to – sometimes – understand what was going on or have some ideas on how to figure it out. Someone who was strong but turned out to be fundamentally empathetic, maybe strong because he was empathetic. He had gone from being someone who scared Stiles to someone Stiles counted on to be a rock, in his own weird Derek way. Now he just seemed like a different person: in these few minutes, watching Derek, hearing him drone even more annoying platitudes than Parrish, Stiles wondered if old Derek had ever existed. “Everything happens for a reason.” “Everything we send out into the world returns to us, as we will eventually be one with the earth.” “Let the love and light flow through you, like a river.” “Listen to the ocean – it is the sound of peace, coming and going, always returning, the grand ocean of life just waiting for you to jump in.” (What even did that last one mean?!?) Stiles felt like he was watching a person who hadn’t experienced anything he knew Derek to have experienced. Stiles felt like he was watching a hot guy from LA trained in douchiness-by-yoga-instruction. And nothing else.

                “This is my friend Stiles, from my hometown,” Derek said, clapping him on the shoulder again, returning Stiles to this odd moment. “He’s going to be joining us for lunch. Let’s go to the house.”

                “The” house? Did all of these people live together? Derek and a bunch of beautiful young women? Doing hot sweaty yoga and eating lunch together?

                Stiles let Derek lead him across the beach towards a well-manicured path through the trees, colorful flowers carefully planted on each side. It really was idyllic here, so Stiles tried to give Derek the benefit of the doubt on the much-improved state of his mind.

                “So, Stiles, how’s Scott?” Derek asked, not really letting go of Stiles’ shoulder.

                Stiles’ fingers itched and he pressed his nails into his palm to contain his irrational anger. Scott was his best friend – had been for life, still was, a good guy through-and-through. But Stiles was tired.

                “Scott’s fine. I love how you ask about Scott first, by the way, when I’m standing in front of you. Just because your asshole uncle happened to randomly bite him one night in the woods,” Stiles snapped, choking on the last words as he realized what he’d said.

                Derek stopped walking and turned Stiles towards him. Squeezed Stiles’ bicep and left his hand there. “Stiles,” Derek paused, and Stiles wondered if Derek realized this was the most he’d ever said the name “Stiles” in his life. “I’m sorry. How are YOU?”

                Stiles and Derek were eye-to-eye, less than a foot apart. Stiles’ pulse had definitely increased in speed, not just because of the anger. His stomach tumbled a bit, as he noticed sweat dripping down Derek’s bare chest, and so he focused instead on staring directly into Derek’s whatever-green-blue-hazel-brown-gray-glinty eyes. He was unnerved. Instead of looking into Derek’s soul, Stiles felt like he was looking into a blank space. Nothing behind the gaze. Was this because Derek was now enlightened, and Stiles was not? Or was this as much of a mask as Stiles thought it might be?

                “I’m okay, Derek. I’m clearly okay,” Stiles retorted. “Because it’s totally normal to go marching through the jungle by yourself to try to find some guy who abandoned you and your friends and you haven’t seen for over a year. And it’s not like I’m covered in dirt and sweat and bleeding or anything.”

                “I didn’t abandon you, Stiles.” That creepy stare again, another arm squeeze. “It was Scott’s time to grow.”

                Scott’s time to grow. Just Scott, of course.

                “That had to happen without me there. Sometimes, you have to experience things yourself in order to learn. I knew that my time as a guide was over. My mother told me what my role was to be, and I had fulfilled that role, and it was time for me to move on, to let Scott learn to rely on himself, and for me to help the world in other ways. I knew you would find me eventually, that your paths would intersect mine. I am so glad you’re here. You will benefit so much from being here.” Another squeeze from guru Derek. For a second, Stiles thought the “you” had meant him, Stiles, but the plural “paths” brought it all back to Scott, again. Also, was Derek an idiot? Stiles always thought of him as a closeted intellectual, but the blank-faced guy in front of him kind of sort of seemed really dumb. Or just not intuitive, for someone who was supposed to be intuitive.

                “Derek, I’m falling asleep.”

                “You must be so tired after your journey. Come to the house, I’ll set you up with a bed and you can nap.” Journey? Ugh.

                “No, I’m going to fall asleep, right now, on this path, listening to you talk.” A small chuckle from Derek, the first non-robotic gesture Stiles noticed since they started walking.

                “Come on. Let’s get some food. Nourishment will improve your mood.” Nourishment? Stiles crinkled his eyebrows in dismay as Derek pushed him forward on the path, towards a stunning glass-walled modern house on a hill overlooking the beach.

               

                Once inside the house, Stiles noted that there were many different kinds of women in this group, not just the young, athletic beauties from the yoga class. Several slightly older women – maybe even 50s, Stiles wasn’t sure – were preparing food, and others still were setting a large communal table. There were even two guys. All body types represented, but all in comfortable athletic wear. When Derek walked in, all eyes turned to him, and Stiles found it very strange. Stiles noticed that Derek blinked, a temporary break in the blank stare, and Stiles also noticed that Derek still had not removed his hand from Stiles’ arm and his grip momentarily tightened. It was as if, although they hadn’t seen each other for so long, Derek found some safety in Stiles.

                “Derek, we’re almost ready for lunch! Do you need anything before we eat?” one of the women asked, a look of pure glee on her face as she waited for Derek’s response. Stiles found himself wondering if maybe Derek had found his calling as a yoga instructor and was somehow making a profound difference in the world here in this bizarrely cult-like environment. Stiles then found himself wondering if it was actually just the abs, and just as he thought that, two things happened simultaneously: Derek answered “No, thank you,” to the woman, and another woman put her hand on Derek’s shirtless side and Derek ever-so-slightly flinched away, towards Stiles. The woman dropped her hand – it wasn’t clear if she’d even registered Derek’s flinch, or if she had just been trying to get his attention – and started saying something, but Derek interrupted.

                “Before you go further, everyone, this is my friend Stiles. Make him welcome. I’ll be right back. I’ll eat with you today.” Derek pushed Stiles onto one of the benches, squeezed his arm again, and walked away as Stiles was left quizzically gazing at him (and absorbing the gazes of all of the strangers in the room). This was definitely not what he expected, either.

                The chatter started up almost immediately, and Stiles realized he was a bit of a celebrity and an oddity here, being somehow connected to apparently magical Derek. (Oh, if only they knew how magical!) He didn’t know exactly what was going on, but he gathered that Derek was the leader of this group and he led yoga and meditation sessions. However, no one knew much about him because he was so mysterious and devoted to his practice that he spent a lot of time in his room alone meditating. He often didn’t even eat with the group. Stiles didn’t say much at all, despite blatant attempts to coax him into talking. He just tried to reconcile all of this new information with the information he thought he knew about Derek. Being alone in his room – that sounded like Derek. Being alone in his room chanting mantras – not so much.

                When Derek returned, he’d rinsed off his face and somehow smelled ridiculously good even from a foot away, like he had managed to rinse off any bad sweat smell but left the good sweat scent. Not that Derek’s smell was ever bad. He was also now wearing a shirt, and Stiles actually wondered if all of Derek’s shirtlessness was actually a weird ploy to detract from how god damn gorgeous he was. Because with the loose-fitting emerald green t-shirt pulling focus to Derek’s chiseled face and his perfect brown scruff and his now-very-green-not-whatever eyes, Derek looked like a Greek God. The shirt had no collar and a low neckline – it was one of those shirts that is meant to look like the collar is cut off but is clearly professionally seamed – and tufts of fluffy brown chest hair that Stiles hadn’t noticed were peeking out the top. Stiles was simultaneously annoyed with himself for being distracted by all of this, and annoyed with Derek for doing this distracting. Even though it did seem like Derek had covered up because it made him feel less objectified, it also seemed like the room itself had audibly gasped when Derek walked back in. Stiles again tried to ignore his attraction as Derek pulled him towards the bathroom to clean him up.

                “Do you have a harem, Derek? Is this your harem?” Stiles quipped as Derek pushed him into the bathroom.

                One of Derek’s huge, formerly expressive eyebrows raised ever-so-slightly as he chuckled a bit. “No, no. It’s not that. I run yoga and wellness retreats – they’re only here for a week at a time.”

                “So temporary harem, then.” Derek, standing behind Stiles at the sink, caught his eye very briefly in the bathroom mirror – again with the slight movement of the eyebrow - and then looked down at the back of Stiles’ neck. He clearly was not going to respond to that, so Stiles changed the subject. “When did you come here?”

                “Right after Mexico…I brought you towels and some clean clothes if you want to take a shower,” Derek said. “But let me take a look at this wound first. What happened? Is this just from the woods?” Stiles felt Derek’s fingers run across a stinging cut on the back of his neck. It felt like Derek was practically standing on top of him. Stiles thought he could feel Derek’s chest pressed into his back. He wondered if he might be imagining that part of it, but he could definitely feel Derek’s breath against his neck and that hot finger running down his shoulder. He clutched onto the sink for support.

                “Yes. You’re a difficult man to find, and I don’t know my way around Costa Rica.”

                “It doesn’t look too bad, but let me clean it out for you with some alcohol. Hang on.” Derek seemed to be unable to hold the thread of a conversation for more than a few seconds, which again made Stiles feel like Derek was in some sort of denial.

                As Derek poured some alcohol onto a cotton swab, Stiles looked at both of them in the mirror. He was taken aback by the fact that his own shoulders were now just as broad as Derek’s, his own arms and chest almost as muscular. Yes, Derek was thicker, a little taller, but Stiles was just as much a man now as Derek. He had always thought himself smaller, weaker, less manly, but that was not the case anymore. Derek seemed to notice it, too, as he locked eyes with Stiles in the mirror again, ever so quickly, then looked back at Stiles’ back, his eyes clearly covering the entire width of Stiles’ shoulders as his fingers did the same.

                Stiles bristled at the attention, wiggled forward, bit his lip and used that bite in his words. “So, Derek, who was your therapist? You must have had a good one. I’m kind of finding the therapy situation in Beacon Hills to be pretty abysmal, so a recommendation would be helpful.” He was hoping Derek would break character now that they were in the bathroom, away from the group, and the real Derek – the one Stiles could relate to - would show up again.

                “No therapist, Stiles. My mother really enlightened me – after that conversation, I felt I knew where I was needed, how to let go of the past and trust myself. I could see the path before me very clearly, as if a portal of light had opened up.”

                Stiles grimaced. So, possibly possessed, then, or insane, or a person with a brain replaced by an inspirational CD, this new Derek. Stiles wished he had wolf powers to really hear Derek’s heart rate and be able to tell if Derek was lying. He thought he could feel Derek’s heart beating against his back, but it might have been his own jumpy heart, and the rate meant nothing to him. Again, Stiles racked his brain for memories of that confusing time in Beacon Hills, and he realized Derek had been weird and oddly unaffected by becoming human, given that he was a born werewolf and it was his life. Stiles wanted to believe that Derek had really found some peace but it seemed unearned. It would have been one thing if Derek had really spent the year working on himself, but Derek was making it sound like this all happened overnight. And, upon reflection, all of that “martyring myself for Scott, the great one,” stuff did seem to happen overnight. (“Forgive me, Scott,” Stiles thought. “I mean it not. Or not in the way you think.”) It all pissed Stiles off, frankly: he would’ve liked to wake up one morning and see a “portal of light” (though not one at the end of a tunnel with dead relatives singing hymns next to it).

                Stiles was shocked back into the present when Derek’s warm palm pressed into the back of his neck. He wiggled forward again, but Derek gently held his left bicep to keep him in place.

                “Hold still,” Derek said, and Stiles closed his eyes, realizing that Derek was taking his pain away before cleaning off the cut. Stiles gave himself permission to temporarily enjoy the few extra degrees of body temperature Derek had on him. Even though it was already hot, this was a different kind of warmth – this was an enveloping, embracing heat. Stiles couldn’t feel it when Derek wiped the alcohol swab on his neck but could feel Derek lingering just a moment too long. Stiles pulled away and turned around, confused by how Derek had managed to slip the hand on Stiles’ neck down to his arm as he turned so there was no loss of contact at all.

                They stared at each other.

                “I really think you’ll love it here,” Derek said. “I’ve actually thought a lot about how much you could benefit from being here, doing yoga and meditating.”

                Stiles was thinking about two things he would benefit from: possibly punching Derek in the face and a cold shower. “I think I will take that shower,” Stiles finally said.

                Derek nodded and awkwardly clapped Stiles on the shoulder, which seemed to be his favorite new move. “Come get something to eat when you’re ready,” he said, giving one more squeeze before walking out of the bathroom and closing the door.

 

                Stiles did feel better after the shower, a little bit calmer, and considered it was possible he wasn’t being fair to Derek. What if Derek really was happy? What if he had changed this much, and was helping other people be happy? Stiles did not want to begrudge him that, even though he felt (possibly irrationally) abandoned. Derek had been thinking about them and thinking of ways to help – it maybe was not the kind of help Stiles needed at the moment, but it was still help. Stiles wasn’t sure that he really wanted to bring up what he was there to bring up – why hurt someone else just because you were hurting? Maybe he and his friends should just all move to Costa Rica and live with Derek. It was hard, though, to feel like he didn’t know Derek at all. Did Derek even wolf-out anymore? Stiles fingered the white seams on the black shirt of Derek’s he was wearing. It was weird to be in Derek’s clothes – that shirt and some loose gray three-quarter-length exercise pants – but the fact that the shirt was the one Derek was wearing when they were paralyzed on top of each other in the police station made it even weirder.

                Stiles resolved he was going to try to be nice to Derek. Maybe get some advice from him, without pushing too hard, and find a way to gently tell him what was going on. However, when he got to the kitchen, Derek was standing at the counter making a sandwich, and the first thing Derek said was, “What do you want to eat? It’s all vegan organic.”

                Stiles pretty much lost any resolve he had.

                “Dude, you’re a wolf!” Stiles half-whispered as he slid up next to Derek and leaned on the counter. “I’m pretty sure it’s not even healthy for wolves to be vegan. I don’t know much about this, but I don’t think dogs are supposed to be vegetarian, let alone vegan, and I’m pretty sure the same goes for wolves.”

                Derek twitched his eyes over to the group and back to Stiles and harrumphed, “I supplement,” before turning his back to Stiles, marching over to the table, and sitting down. Derek took a bite of his sandwich before he noticed Stiles glaring at him.

                “Come, eat,” he said. “Do you want a drink? We have artisanal craft beer…you’re 18 now, right?”

                “Yes, but I’m pretty sure you can drink beer here earlier than that.” Stiles sat down on the bench next to Derek, trying to ignore the needy faces around them (needy in the sense that they were waiting on baited breath for Derek’s next move, and still found Stiles fascinating because he knew Derek). “But no, I don’t want a drink. Umm, I actually kind of need to talk to you, just you, you know?” he said into Derek’s ear as he flashed his eyes as subtly as possible around the table. He really didn’t want to wait anymore. Screw bursting Derek’s bubble – this was all too strange.

                Derek nodded. “Let’s take our food up to my private space and we can talk.”

                “You mean your private harem space? Where you take the chosen one each night?” Stiles snapped into Derek’s ear before feeling some elbow in the side. That made Stiles smile and give Derek a little wink. Stiles knew that elbow well.

                “No, my private space, where I go by myself,” Derek smirked back, grabbed Stiles by the arm, and led him upstairs.

                The “private space” was, in fact, what normal people would call a “bedroom.”

                “I see you got the same decorator as you had back at the loft,” Stiles said.

                “It’s a completely different look,” Derek said as he shut the door to the all-white room, huge windows overlooking the beach and allowing sunlight to pour onto everything.

                “Yes, but how many decorators only know how to buy a bed? Seriously, did you ever think about getting other furniture? Or other anything?”

                “I don’t find I need it.” Derek walked over to the window and looked outside. Stiles followed, imagining that this is what Derek did all day. Stare out onto this gorgeous view. It didn’t sound bad, although it did sound a bit like dissociative disorder.

                “So, you just spend all of your time up here, meditating?”

                “Meditating is good for you.”

                “I know, Derek, I can read _The New York Times._ I’m familiar with the benefits of meditation and mindfulness and yoga and ‘being in the moment.’ Just…is that all you do? Do you ever talk to anyone? Cora, maybe?” Derek didn’t answer – just continued staring out the window.

                After a few silent beats, Derek finally spoke again. “You might try meditation. Maybe then you wouldn’t be such-“

                “A hyperactive spaz?” Derek turned to Stiles and arched his eyebrows. “Yes, Derek, I DID hear you said that. And you think I haven’t tried meditation?”

                “I don’t know. You seem even more tightly wound than normal. I’m trying to help.” Derek sounded exasperated and looked tired and frustrated – not at all zen, but still not quite Derek. Stiles still didn’t feel like this Derek would understand him.

                “Than normal? You haven’t seen me or talked to me in over a year. And you didn’t even ask me what I was doing here, how I got here, what the hell was going on.”

                “To be fair, you didn’t really ask me how I was doing, either.”

                “How are you, Derek? How is your life in isolation, living off the grid away from everyone who cares about you and pretending that nothing bad has ever happened to you?”

                Derek turned to Stiles. “Stiles, that is not fair. I told you my perspective changed after I talked to my mother. She pointed out to me that I was never meant to be an alpha and that I had to be there to support Scott. At the point I left, as I said, it seemed that the best way to support Scott was to get out of his way, and that seemed to be the message my mother was trying to tell me.”

                “OH MY GOD! Do you even hear yourself? Stop talking about this conversation with your mother! You can’t just turn from a mess to an angel overnight because of one possibly imaginary conversation with your then-dead mother! That’s not the way real life works.”

                “Would you like me to be miserable? Is that what you wanted to find?” Again the monotone, the blank stare into nothing.

                “No, I want you to be real. I want you to not be in denial.” Stiles wondered, though, if he did want Derek to be miserable, because they had been through similar things, and Stiles certainly didn’t feel the way Derek did. He felt awful and he needed someone to understand that. There was a moment, after Boyd died, when Stiles placed his hand on Derek’s shoulder and felt Derek’s grief flooding through him, this grief was the same as his own, and he felt so connected to Derek. He felt there was possibly an understanding there. But it never led to anything, and Stiles had always wished for that connection to be real, for someone who might understand him in a different way than his friends did and let him actually feel things. And that was before things got even worse for Stiles. Stiles suddenly realized that connection was what he was hoping to find here, more than anything, more even than help with the supernatural back home.

                “Is it that hard to believe I’ve found peace? I evolved, Stiles. There’s nothing more pure than the feeling of being a wolf. I would love for you to find the peace I’ve found, but you have to be open to it and accepting of the message you might hear.”

                That connection was not there, not now, and Stiles just wanted to lash out. “The message I might hear from who? Your mother? And you can’t just pull out the wolf thing, Derek. I’m never going to be a wolf. I’m a human. And if it’s so great being a wolf, why aren’t you one all the time?”

                “Because that’s not where I’m needed most.”

                “But here is? Teaching yoga to horny people?” Derek cringed at that comment and seemed about to say something, but Stiles wouldn’t let him. “You somehow think that the best thing for Scott was for you to abandon us? Have you talked to him, called him, asked him if he needed you? Oh wait, I know the answer to that – no, you have not. And while we’re on that subject, thanks for always talking about Scott. Because who was it who saved your ass a million times? Was it Scott? No, it was skinny, scrawny Stiles – yeah, I heard you said that, too. Human Stiles. And do I ever get any attention for anything?”

                Derek stepped closer to Stiles and set his teeth. His words came out like a spit, and Stiles felt some satisfaction that he was starting to get Derek to crack. “Is that what you want? Attention? You want me to congratulate you for not letting me die when you could have? That’s basic human decency – not higher purpose.”

                “Oh, I wanted to let you die, believe me. Did you know that?” Stiles was furious now. He was less than a foot from Derek, both of their bodies rigid, eyes locked. Derek was clearly sweating and Stiles could feel his own palms moisten. He wanted to hit Derek, to smack him, to shake him open so that their truths could mingle where there were no walls and they could both finally, actually, be in the same place. But it felt like that would never happen. Stiles had come for Derek’s help. A foot away, though, and he didn’t want that help: he wanted apologies for things he hadn’t even realized he thought Derek did wrong. Why was it “basic human decency” when Stiles did something, but signs of a holier-than-holies superbeing when Scott did the same thing? Stiles was the one who traipsed to Costa Rica to find Derek to try to help Scott, not the other way around. “Did you know that I said, ‘Scott, can we please think about letting Derek die?’ When Kate was torturing you? I’ll bet you didn’t know that.” Stiles purposely stabbed with his words.

                “No, I did not know that,” Derek stuttered out, looking genuinely wounded.

                “Why would you be surprised? You threatened me, you threatened Scott, you imposed upon me and never thanked me for my kindness, and you know what? I wish we had let you die. Because everything that’s happened since was because you made a shitty decision, betrayed Scott, and killed your uncle just so YOU could be the alpha.” Stiles was surprised to feel tears flooding his eyes. He wasn’t even sure what he was saying, because screaming at Derek was almost the exact opposite of what he wanted to be doing right now.

                “Stiles – “ Derek places his long fingers lightly on Stiles arm. They burned. And comforted. At the same time. Stiles sighed but didn’t pull away. “Why do you think I left?”

                “I don’t know, Derek, that’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

                “I didn’t really help you, ever. Any of you. You’re probably right. You should’ve let me die. But you didn’t. And now you’re here, and maybe I can help you this time. I know you laugh when I talk about the conversation with my mother, but – “

                “SHUT THE GOD DAMN HELL UP ABOUT YOUR GOD DAMN MOTHER!” Stiles ripped his arms away from Derek as he felt his heart rip open. He was not so different from Derek, then: he’d long been pretending certain things were fine, were just part of life. But Derek’s 18 millionth mention of a dumb conversation with his then-dead mother ripped open that old wound, filled it with all of the new salt, and now sarcasm and humor weren’t protection. There was a flash of angry blue in Derek’s eyes, a heave of the chest.

                “Stiles, I am trying to help you. I know you wouldn’t be here if you didn’t need my help, and I am trying to help. Why are you being such a brat?”

                “Oh, I don’t know, Derek, why would I be a brat? Can you think of anyone you know who would very much like to have a conversation with his dead mother? I would, Derek! I would very much like to talk to my dead mother, but I can’t, because she was human, and she died when I was nine, and she is really dead, and I can never talk to her again! Did you ever think about that? Why didn’t you ever ask me about that? Why were you such a jerk, as if no one could possibly know what it’s like to have a dead mother? I know what it’s like and I could’ve used some fucking help because it fucking sucks and I want to talk to my dead mother every damn day.”

                “Stiles, you were 16 when we really met, your friend had just been bitten by a werewolf, why was it my – “

                “No, you don’t get to talk now, Derek, because I have some things to say-“

                “When do you not have things to say?”

                “Shut. Up. You know what else would’ve helped, Derek? You know what would’ve been awesome? If someone had warned me that even though I talked a good game about wanting to lose my virginity, I’d probably actually have been better off staying a virgin until 25 than losing my virginity in the god damn basement of a mental asylum that should be condemned by having unprotected sex with a half-coyote girl I’d known for all of three minutes!”

                “Your virginity-“ Stiles noted Derek’s extreme discomfort and he just barreled over whatever Derek was trying to say.

                “Did you know I quietly worried I’d gotten her pregnant and couldn’t tell anyone about it because they were all like, ‘Hey Stiles bro man dude you’re not a virgin anymore that’s awesome dude!’ Not, ‘Stiles, I’m sorry you were possessed, and had several horrible things happen to you, how are you feeling?’ but ‘Congratulations, you finally got laid!’ And I have to think of that disgusting moment for the rest of my life every time I think about sex and it’s giving me PTSD and I may never be able to do that kind of stuff again – “

                “I hope that’s not –“

                “- you know who could’ve told me that getting laid isn’t everything in life and there are other more important things because he too had shitty experiences with women? Or who could have at least been there after it happened? Oh, I don’t know, Derek, maybe you. Maybe you know what that’s like.”

                “I wasn’t there, Stiles. I didn’t know.” There was a pain in Derek’s face that Stiles had never seen before, even with Boyd, but Stiles still kept going, immense relief mixed in with his anger, mixed with that desire to connect with Derek. Stiles was starting to feel like he was having an out-of-body experience – something else was taking control, he was just watching himself in a movie, he could almost hear the _Pirates_ soundtrack playing in the background, mixed with the sound of strong male breaths and heartbeats and adrenaline and anger and maybe something else.

                “No, you weren’t there! That’s the point. And while we’re at it, talking about things you could’ve helped with. Do you know what it’s like when people you care about die because of you? Do you understand what that’s like? No one seems to give a shit that people died because of me and I can’t forget it and no one understands and I’m supposed to just go on and accept it and look for the light or whatever? Is that what you really think? I think you do know what it feels like for innocent people to die because of you. I think you still feel it and I think you’re lying to yourself if you pretend you don’t.”

                “I feel it every second of every day. Is that why you came here? To remind me of everything I’ve done wrong? As if I don’t know? What do you want, Stiles?” There was a growl in Derek’s words now, a tension in his body, as if ready to spring. Stiles felt the same tension in himself.

                “I want to rip your throat out with my teeth,” Stiles growled back.

                The words were out of Stiles’ mouth before he even realized what he was saying, and his lips on Derek’s neck before he realized what he was doing. Stiles bit and kissed and sucked at Derek’s neck all at once and felt the roughness of Derek’s beard tingle his lips. His left hand ran over Derek’s cheek, his thumb fingering the scruff on Derek’s chin, moving up to his lips. Derek whimpered and opened his mouth slightly for Stiles’ thumb. Stiles felt Derek’s face turn ever-so-slightly down towards him and Stiles scraped his face up to Derek’s and then their lips were together and they were kissing and Stiles was crying and he couldn’t remember why he was mad or when he had ever felt that kind of energy course through him. He wasn’t sure how long they were kissing – it felt like forever and like no time at all – but his mouth and lips and face and tongue had never been as alive or felt as good as they did at that moment. He ached for more. He ached to be as close to Derek as possible, to not be separate at all.

                And then he felt Derek’s hand around his wrist. The hand pushed him off of Derek’s face, pushed Stiles away. Stiles didn’t go very far. He pushed back this time, and was more than strong enough for a deadlock. Stiles stared at Derek’s closed eyes and listened to him breathe. He wasn’t going to apologize, not for the kiss. They stood there, two men with arms locked in mid-air, and it was just as Stiles felt Derek’s claws come close to breaking his skin that he realized Derek was crying.

                “Stiles,” Derek said softly. “Stiles.”

                “Yes, Derek?” Stiles said, and then paused. “I didn’t really want you to die, ever. I came here for you. Because I wanted to talk to YOU.”

                Derek’s eyes flashed open and he smiled, that closed-mouth snarky smile that Stiles always thought of when he thought of Derek. “I know. And I’m impressed. For a skinny, scrawny guy, you’re pretty strong.”

                And then, suddenly, they were no longer locked in combat, because Derek’s arms were on Stiles and Stiles was pressed against the wall. They kissed furiously as their hands roamed – hot fingers tracing collarbone, chest, side, Derek’s thumb in Stiles mouth and then on his neck as their lips connected again, Stiles’ arms wrapped around Derek, feeling the muscles in his back, Derek’s chest and legs starting to press against Stiles’ own, the glorious roughness of Derek’s scruff against Stiles’ chin and cheek and neck and shoulder, large hands on Stiles’ abs, suddenly connecting with skin where they lifted Stiles’ shirt, wrapping around Stiles’ back, pulling Stiles even closer to Derek. Stiles gasped and arched his back as Derek kissed his neck, then grabbed Derek’s hair, pulled their faces together again. Stiles was still crying and Derek was crying but there was nothing soft about this moment. Stiles felt Derek’s heart beat into him, felt the heat from the animal that was Derek – the real Derek – and he wanted to give in to his own animal instincts, but just as Derek grabbed him and was clearly moving him towards the bed, Stiles stopped him.

                He grabbed the back of Derek’s head in his hands and pressed their foreheads together, lightly kissing Derek on the lips. “Derek.” Both of them had their eyes open now, staring into each other. Derek’s stare was no longer blank – it was filled with longing and sadness and empathy and strength and understanding and such Derekness that it made Stiles lean up and kiss next to Derek’s eyes and run his thumb across them. Derek whimpered again, and although Stiles had given in to his anger and wanted to give in to his lust, he knew it couldn’t be like this. It had to be honest. The physical part, the feelings for Derek, that was all honest, and accepting it and letting it out felt so good, but it was what Stiles was withholding, what he had avoided saying earlier, that wasn’t. And if he didn’t say something now, everything about this would be dishonest, and Stiles couldn’t have that for himself or for Derek.

                “Derek. Stop.”

                Derek raised his eyebrows and Stiles wanted to kiss them but didn’t.

                “I came here because we need you. Something happened, Derek, and it’s not good.”

                “What?” Derek didn’t pull away as he said it – he actually pressed himself closer to Stiles and pressed their foreheads together again.

                “Do you remember how you trapped the nogitsune in the box with your mom’s claws?”

                “Yes…”

                “That apparently wasn’t the best idea. Isaac showed up with the box again, and, well, I guess mixing a powerful nogitsune and a powerful alpha can do some strange things.”

                “Like what?” Stiles felt Derek’s hands squeeze his back and he made sure his own arms were wrapped around Derek tightly enough to withstand what might be coming. Stiles pressed Derek to him, and he held Derek there as he spoke and kept holding on as Derek’s roar rippled through his body, shook the foundations of the house, shook the foundations of their world.

                “Your mom’s alive, Derek. And she is not the person you remember.”

               


	2. Stranded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles, trying to make their way back to Beacon Hills, get stranded in a crappy motel in Texas for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm picking this up again for NaNoWriMo - I'm going to switch off between this and something else. I'm hoping that I'll be able to put something satisfying in every chapter, as I'm still not sure where it's going yet! I hope you enjoy it and let me know if I need to add any tags.

 Stiles slapped another bug against the back of his baking, dirt-covered neck and cringed as he tried to focus on what Malia was saying on the other end of the phone.

“Malia, I know, I know. I’m sorry. We can talk about this when I get back. Can you just tell me if Scott is there, please?” A few feet away, Derek was bent over the engine of the rental car, jiggering with something, and he looked up and arched his eyebrows as he realized that after ten minutes, Stiles still hadn’t been able to get Malia to tell him why she had answered Scott’s phone. 

Stiles sighed deeply as Malia continued, loud enough that Derek would’ve been able to hear her even without werewolf senses. “You just left without telling anyone. How could you do that to me, when you know how hard everything has been for me? What was I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do?” 

“Malia, I didn’t think anyone would let me come, and I’m sorry. But I really, really need to talk to Scott.” Stiles could feel his panic rising - he and Derek had so far managed to make a hash out of their return to Beacon Hills. It wasn’t their fault, really: they couldn't control that their plane had mechanical difficulties and had to land in Texas, that there were severe thunderstorm warnings that grounded planes so they couldn’t get a flight out, that they decided to rent a car and drive and the car decided to break down in the middle of nowhere. Stiles really just wanted to go to bed. He also wanted to talk to Scott and find out not only what was going on in Beacon Hills but whether Scott had any suggestions for getting them home faster. Or at least the location of a hotel, because most of Stiles' devices were drained of batteries and the internet access on his phone was misbehaving terribly. “Please, Malia, can you just get Scott?”

“No, I’m trying to understand, Stiles.” It had been like this for two months now - two months since they broke up. Stiles felt terrible, and he didn’t know what to do, because he hated being responsible for a broken heart - he understood that pain - but he couldn’t be with her. 

“Malia-” Stiles said as Derek’s hand reached out and gestured for the phone. Stiles willingly handed it to him, not telling Malia what he was doing. 

“Malia, it’s Derek…yes, your cousin Derek.” Stiles couldn’t hear what Malia was saying, and he was grateful for that based on Derek’s shocked expression. “Malia, listen, I hear you. It sucks. But we need your help right now. I need you to tell me if Scott is around.” Another pause. “Okay, he isn’t? Is everyone okay, then?…Okay, good, look, I have to go, but please tell Scott to call Stiles, okay? Okay. Take a deep breath - I’ll see you soon.” 

Derek handed the phone back to Stiles, and Stiles felt a rising panic. They hadn’t discussed the whole “furious make-out session that seemed like it was about to lead to more” thing since it happened, and Stiles was afraid that Derek’s conversation with his young, understandably vulnerable cousin would make it all a moot point. Which was really not what Stiles wanted. Stiles did like that Derek had held on to him on the plane, though, because, surprisingly, Derek was not good with flying. 

“I’m sorry, she’s just…what are we going to do?” Stiles said as he started frantically pacing. “It’s 200 degrees and we’re in the middle of nowhere and we have like one bottle of water and an energy bar -”

“Stiles, look at me,” Derek said as he stepped forward and placed his hands on Stiles’ shoulders, grounding him. “Look me in the eyes. I want you to breathe with me.” 

“Please, please don’t talk about rivers. You’re not going to talk about rivers, are you?”

“No rivers, I promise. Just breathe on my counts, okay? Inhale - 2-3-4-5. Hold - 2-3-4-5-6-7. Now exhale - 2-3-4-5-6-7-8. Again: Inhale - 2-3-4-5. Hold - 2-3-4-5-6-7. Now exhale - 2-3-4-5-6-7-8.”

“Stimulating the parasympathetic nervous system. Very smart,” Stiles said. 

“See, it’s not all bunk,” Derek said, squeezing Stiles. “Do you feel better?” 

“Yes, a little, thanks,” Stiles said, examining more closely the dust-covered Derek in front of him. There was a tiny part of Stiles that thought breaking down on the side of the road with Derek wasn’t the worst thing, especially when Derek was wearing a tank top and jeans and looked probably as good as a man could look. This was the part of Stiles, though, that wanted to escape from reality, and from the fact that some very dangerous things were happening back home. 

“Well, maybe this will make you feel a lot better,” Derek said, and then Stiles felt soft lips against his own, tenderly kissing him, Derek’s hands moving up to cup his face. This was a different kind of kiss from their first kiss - this kiss didn’t want or need anything more - it just existed, on its own, savoring its moment in time. This kiss melted Stiles. 

“Well, look at this! Two guys making out, how cute!” Stiles heard the words at the same moment as he felt a plastic bottle hit his face. Neither he nor Derek had noticed the truck stop next to them and the leering faces of three late-teen drunk boys hanging out the window. 

Stiles was about to shrivel away - it hadn’t occurred to him to worry about this, and for that, he felt lucky - but before he could, there was a flash of fire and fang next to him. 

Derek growled, and his face transformed instantly to the werewolf face Stiles knew so well. The boys in the truck pulled back, “What the hell, man? What the hell did you just do?”

“Nothing,” Derek said, back to normal now, glaring at the boys. “Nothing that you want to see again, that is. And if you ever do, or say, anything like that again, you will.” Derek walked up to them, tapped his claws on the car and flashed his fangs again. “I suggest you leave.” 

Stiles was amazed to see that they did, kicking up a trail of dust behind them. 

“You okay?” Derek said, brushing his finger gently across Stiles’ cheek, where the bottle had hit him. Stiles nodded. 

“Good. You know, I’ve been an outsider my whole life, and I think I used to handle it the wrong way, but now that crap isn’t going to fly. At all.” Derek turned back to the car’s engine, and Stiles moved next to him and rubbed Derek’s back with his fingertips. Stiles felt - and it was odd to admit - suddenly safe. Not necessarily safe from supernatural creatures or bad storms or whatever else might fall on them, but safe in the sense that here was a creature who had, against all odds, somehow developed a strong sense of right and wrong. And was not afraid to show it. 

“I think we’re going to need a tow after all. No luck with Triple-A?”  
“Nope,” Stiles said, as the only outgoing call he’d been able to make was to Scott’s phone, which Malia answered. 

“Okay, then, let’s start walking. I think I saw a motel or something a few miles back, off the main road.” 

 

Stiles propped himself up a little more on the pillows behind him and looked at Derek. Derek had been sitting on the floor in a butterfly position, meditating, for at least 20 minutes, and Stiles was mesmerized. Stiles thought he might be getting some second-hand benefits of meditation, except instead of focusing on his own breath or a candle, he was focusing on the rhythmic in-out of Derek’s chest. Stiles had figured out in the past 24 hours that some of “Zen” Derek was real, but much of what he sensed in Costa Rica was true: Derek was, like everyone else, a work in progress. He had found no magic cure or magic eraser for his troubles, but he had found some techniques that seemed to work for him, and for that (and for finally admitting that, yes, some of what happened in Costa Rica was a show for the people who expected a yoga “guru” to behave a certain way) Stiles really respected him. 

When Derek’s harp-melody alarm went off to signal an end to his meditation, Stiles quickly looked back at his computer, pretending he had not, in fact, been looking at Derek at all. They were in an incredibly crappy motel room, so crappy that Stiles was surprised Derek didn’t find it disgusting to sit on that rough green (and stained) carpet. Stiles had stripped the bed of the bedspread - those things never got washed - and examined the sheets, contemplating throwing them in the laundry, but Derek had glared at him, and he had forgotten what he had been thinking of doing. Glares from Derek could do that. When he remembered, he decided it wasn’t worth it, and now he was sitting on the bed, perfectly comfortable, and was just not going to think about the sheets. 

“So you can just not think for that entire time?” Stiles asked as Derek crawled up the bed next to him. 

“No, it’s not like that at all. You just let your thoughts be, and then bring them back to your focus, over and over again, when they wander. It’s more like observing your thoughts.” 

“How do you not get bored?”

“I did and I do, sometimes. It takes practice, like everything else.” 

Derek was now sitting next to Stiles, their bodies lightly touching, which made Stiles just want to keep talking because it felt so awkward. (Was he spending the night with Derek? That was happening, but was it really happening? It seemed surreal and Stiles felt like there should be an adult supervising them or something, because it made Stiles feel like a never-been-kissed 12-year-old all over again.) 

“When did you start meditating?”

Derek laughed. “After the conversation with my mother.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes. 

“Seriously, though, it was around the time we found out about the nogitsune. I was having trouble figuri- I tried a lot of different things to try to keep it together, and meditation seemed to help.”

“It helps now, too? Now that I told you about, you know?”

Derek snorted. “That my mother is back from the dead or some sort of spirit who is now possessed by the same nogitsune that possessed you, and that she went on some sort of international killing spree, ending with the bodies of another wolfpack strewn across the ruins of our old house?” 

“Yeah, that.” 

“I feel like there’s a limit to the amount anything can help with that. Although I’d have to go with yes, it is helping, or I’m in denial, because it still seems completely insane to me.”

“And you might be throwing furniture if you weren’t meditating.”

“Hey, I haven’t thrown furniture in a long time,” Derek said, rolling onto his side and sneaking one arm under Stiles, the other onto Stiles’ belly, right at the bottom of his pajama t-shirt. Oh God. 

“What are you looking up, by the way?” 

“Routes back to Beacon Hills that might be faster than the one we’re on. Provided the car gets fixed tomorrow like they said it would.” 

Derek didn’t say anything - he just let his hand travel under Stiles’ shirt, up to his chest, fingers grazing Stiles’ skin. Stiles started feeling very warm and was afraid he was going to start dripping sweat, or possibly throw up. 

“Is this not a little weird to you, Derek?”

“It’s weird,” Derek said, but his fingers had now found their way to the small patch of Stiles’ chest hair and were running themselves through it. “But also not that weird at all. I mean, if someone had told me three years ago that I would find myself lying next to you in bed with my hand up your shirt, I would definitely have thought that person was insane.”

“You probably would have growled and thrown the person out a window.”

“Maybe that,” Derek chuckled. Derek’s thumb circled Stiles’ right nipple and Stiles shuddered into the bed. 

“I am very glad my computer is on a pillow on my lap,” Stiles said.

“What?”

  “Nothing. What about two years ago? Would you have thought it was strange then?” 

“Two years ago it would have seemed more like a possibility.” 

“What about a year ago?”

“A year ago you were with Malia,” Derek said, and then kissed Stiles’ neck, right under his chin. 

“But you found me attractive?” 

“Do you ever stop talking?” Another kiss on the neck, and Stiles was freaking out - he could feel his whole body vibrating. 

“I think you know the ans-” Stiles started to say, but Derek was leaning over him, kissing him, another real kiss on the mouth, gentle and sweet, Derek’s arm having strayed to the side of Stiles’ so the only thing preventing Derek from actually lying on top of Stiles was the computer. Stiles let this continue for another moment, his mind a swirl of conflicting thoughts, and then pulled away.

“Well, you took the words right out of my mouth. It must’ve been while you were kissing me,” Stiles said. 

Derek groaned. “Did you just quote Meatloaf?” 

“It was the Beacon Hills class of 1982 prom theme. My parents fell in love to that song. If our lives are ever normal, we’ll do it at karaoke, and you’ll love the beginning. I’m surprised you even know that song.” 

“My parents were also class of 1982.”

“Who the hell talks about their prom theme song that much? What the hell was wrong with our parents?” 

“Maybe when life is crazy, you hold onto whatever normalcy you can,” Derek said, and this made a lot of sense to Stiles, because all he wanted to do was curl up into Derek and let whatever might happen continue to happen and forget about all the rest for awhile. 

“Is that what’s happening here?” Stiles asked. “I mean, shouldn’t we maybe not be kissing since a bunch of bad shit is happening?” 

“I regret doing some kissing when bad things were happening back in Beacon Hills, but I also think…we can’t really do anything at the moment, and I don’t think our lives will ever be normal, so maybe we have to allow ourselves to have some good even in the bad times?”

“How philosophical of you, Zen Derek. Do you know how to do any of this, by the way?”

“Do what?” 

“You know, this,” Stiles said, gesturing to his body, and Derek started smirking. “Kiss boys.” 

“Well, I just kissed you, didn’t I?”

“Yes, that you did. I mean, have you ever before? Because I’m not sure I know how to do this. Like, are there how-to videos we can watch or something?” 

Derek pushed his face into the pillow. “I think there are plenty of videos, but I’m not sure they’re instructional.”

“How do you know? Have you ever watched one?” 

“No, I actually haven’t. I’ve only ever thought about it with you, but I’m just guessing. Just a hunch that there might be some videos available.” 

“Maybe there’s an e-How or something. How to have gay sex for the first time. With a werewolf.” Stiles heard a muffled noise from the pillow. 

“I’m not sure e-How is the right site for that. We’re big boys. I think we can figure it out,” Derek said. 

“How big are we talking? Because that might make it more difficult. I mean, I guess it depends a little on how we do things. Not that I’m not, you know.” Stiles paused. “Big, I mean.” 

Stiles heard a grunt from the pillow and Derek started to turn his head towards Stiles, which panicked Stiles because he thought Derek might see exactly what size Stiles was. He plopped the computer on the side table and rammed the lower half of his body under the covers.

“But you don’t need to know that now, so I’m just going to keep my bottom half under these thick covers,” Stiles rambled. Another snort. “Derek, are you crying? What are these noises you’re making down there?” Stiles propped himself up on his arm and leaned over Derek’s face, turning it slightly towards him. Derek’s eyes were crinkled shut, his lips pressed together with a downward turn, his cheeks puffed - and there were small, uncontrolled snorts coming out of his nose.

“Derek Hale, are you giggling?” 

Derek let out a burst of giggles, which made Stiles drop his mouth open wide and start laughing. “You are giggling! I kind of want to tickle you now,” Stiles said, and started tickling Derek’s chest.

“I’m not giggling. I am Derek Hale. I do not giggle,” Derek gasped out, as he rolled on his back and pressed his hand on his face to try to cover up the giggles. 

“You are so giggling. This is the best face I have ever seen. I am going to try to figure out how to get you to make this face all the time. Look at those crinkly eyes!” Stiles leaned over Derek and tickled next to his armpit, which for some reason made Derek laugh harder. “Tickle tickle! See, that works!” Stiles joked, laughing with Derek.

“Just stop, you idiot,” Derek said as he wrapped his arms around Stiles and pulled Stiles on top of him, their mouths connecting in a big, sloppy, half-laugh of a kiss that quickly morphed into something much more passionate. Stiles let himself feel Derek’s body beneath him, the strong arms pulling him down, roaming his back as if they could not get enough of Stiles. Stiles let himself feel this safety, but also the strangeness - the power - of having someone sturdier than him underneath him.

And then he pulled away again, rolling to the side.

“Seriously, though, I don’t think I’m really ready for the sex,” he said.

“I think that’s a good call. I agree,” Derek said, rolling to face Stiles and running his arm up and down the side of Stiles’ body.

“Wait, what does that mean? Do you not want to?”

“Do I not want to do the sex?”

“Yes, I mean, are you saying that’s a good call because you don’t want to?” Stiles wanted Derek to want him, of course.

“You really don’t shut up, do you? Never mind, I do know the answer to that question. You’re such a goof. Of course I want to, but I feel like there’s time, and, as you said, maybe it isn’t the best thing when we’re in kind of a high pressure situation,” Derek said, and then he sucked at Stiles’ lips, and Stiles shivered.

“But, I mean, we’re guys. We’re 18 and 22. Or 40 or however old you are,” Derek laughed again, but didn’t offer up his exact age (which Stiles did know, based on high school graduation years and their days on swim team together as children that no one discussed, to be approximately 22). “Aren’t we supposed to be boinking all the time?” 

“I don’t think we’re supposed to be anything. Other than what we are and what we want to be. I’ve had mostly - all, if I’m totally being honest - sucky sex experiences in my life, and it sounds like yours haven’t been much better, and I don’t want that for us. And I don’t want to ever - ever - do anything that makes you uncomfortable, or that you’re not ready for or don’t want to do.” 

“You do tend to have sex in shitty situations. Are you sure this isn’t that? An escape mechanism? Asking again just to be sure.” Stiles asked.

“This is not that, Stiles. For one thing, I’ve known you more than a day.” Stiles laughed at that, closing his eyes. “But this is definitely not that.” 

Stiles was surprised to feel the sting of tears behind his lids. He didn’t realize how tightly he was holding Derek’s arm, or how heavily he was breathing, until he felt Derek’s fingers lightly graze his cheek.

“Hey. You okay?” Derek asked gently. Stiles nodded, keeping his eyes shut, trying not to betray the emotion he was feeling. Surprised by the force of it. That there would be an “us,” that Stiles was someone worth waiting for. That Derek seemed to intuitively understand why some of this might be hard for Stiles. That it seemed like Derek had thought about this, even if it just started yesterday. “I can sleep on the floor if you want,” Derek added, pulling slightly away from Stiles but still holding him.

Stiles shook his head. “No, don’t do that.” Stiles wanted to add more but couldn’t figure out what, so instead he lightly kissed Derek, missing his lips slightly because his eyes were still closed, and rolled onto his other side, wrapping Derek’s arm around him and pressing his back into Derek’s chest. Derek squeezed Stiles’ hand into his own and pulled Stiles closer. He briefly pulled his head up to kiss Stiles on the temple, and then rested it back on the pillow, his forehead nestled into Stiles’ messy hair. 

“You’re not going to kill me in my sleep, are you?” Stiles quipped, not quite able to let the night end on a totally mushy note. 

“Only if you keep talking,” Derek grumbled and then kissed Stiles’ head. “Sleep well, buddy.”

“Sleep well, sour wolf,” Stiles said, and then he allowed himself to drift off into a quiet, protected sleep. 

 

Stiles woke up cold, the kind of cold that comes from evaporating nightsweats. It was definitely the middle of the night, and it took Stiles a minute to remember where he was and whose arms had been around him. Those arms were gone now, and Stiles was suddenly scared: that something bad had happened and Derek was gone, or that Derek felt uncomfortable or weird and just left. But when he looked up, he saw Derek’s silhouette next to the window.

“Hey,” Stiles said sleepily. 

“I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“I don’t think so. You okay?” 

Derek walked over to the bed and knelt down next to it, resting his chin on the bed. “Yeah,” he said, covering Stiles’ exposed hand with his own. “I just couldn’t sleep.” 

Derek paused and looked away from Stiles then, and Stiles intertwined his fingers with Derek’s. 

“Would it be weird to you if I slept as a wolf?” 

Stiles was somewhat surprised by the question, but not overly so. “No, not at all. I always wanted a pet.”

“Very funny.”

“Seriously, it’s fine.”

“Thanks. It’s easier to sleep. Quieter.”

“What’s it like? Can you still think the way humans do?”

“I can think, yes, but it’s different. It’s more visceral. What I try to do in meditation - that’s what it’s like naturally as a wolf. Much more in the moment, no thoughts that go in circles.” 

“But you could understand me, if I talked to you?”

“Yes, definitely. But not necessarily in the same way. It’s kind of hard to explain - I understand the language and the feeling of the language, but when I come out of it, I don’t remember everything word-for-word, and the decisions are more instinctual than anything else.” Derek paused again. “You wouldn’t know this, of course, since you’re only 18, but sometimes it’s kind of like when you’re happy drunk, and everything is a bit heightened.”

“I would totally not know anything about being drunk, you’re right,” Stiles joked, and lightly punched Derek on the shoulder. Derek grabbed his hand and kissed it.

“Thanks for understanding, buddy. I’ll be right back.”

“Okay, buddy,” Stiles said, again punching Derek in the shoulder. 

 

Stiles dozed off thinking about what Derek was doing in the bathroom, and how he probably had no clothes on, and he started awake when he felt the bottom of the bed shake as Derek jumped onto it. Derek, a big black wolf with beautiful blue eyes. Stiles was startled by how majestic he looked, even though it was Derek, and he sort of always looked majestic. But this creature was amazing.

Derek walked forward on the bed to Stiles’ face and nuzzled his nose. Stiles crinkled his nose a little bit. 

“Okay, this is a little weird.” As a response to that, Derek lay down next to Stiles, who was on his back, and whimpered. “What?”

Derek started pawing at Stiles’ far side, but Stiles didn’t move. “Now what? Maybe you should have told me what you wanted before you went in the bathroom,” Stiles snarked and scratched Derek’s head. Derek responded by growling playfully and rolling on his back, legs splayed out, still tapping Stiles with his paw. 

“Dude, you’re exposing yourself!” Stiles laughed, pulling the blanket out from under Derek and covering him. “That’s much better - I don’t need to see that. We’ve only been dating for like a day.” 

Derek snorted and rolled on his side, facing away from Stiles. Stiles rolled over and spooned Derek. “Big spoon with you like this, I guess.” Derek sighed, a wolf-dog sigh, and pulled Stile’s arm to his furry chest with both of his paws. 

“Oh, this is what you wanted all along, isn’t it?” Stiles said as he squeezed Derek closer and nuzzled the back of his head. “This is bizarre, but I kind of like it. Multi-purpose boyfriend.” Stiles snuggled in and let himself dose off, almost absentmindedly kissing Derek’s head and saying, without thinking, “I love you, buddy.” 

Derek responded by squeezing Stiles’ arm even closer to his body. 

 

Stiles heaved awake when the pressure of one of Derek’s paws slammed into his stomach. Derek was standing on the bed, growling in the direction of the door, and his back paw had slipped onto Stiles. Stiles knew it was still the middle of the night, knew something was wrong, but could only hear Derek growling and the incessant blaring of an alarm.

His phone. His second phone, that is.

Stiles had a second phone that only Scott had the number for, and he was only supposed to call in absolute emergencies. Since they found themselves in semi-emergencies all the time, this was meant to be a last resort: always on, always with a terrible, blaringly loud ring tone, and only if Scott had tried the other number already, many times. Scott had never used it before. 

“Derek, Derek, it’s okay, it’s okay. It’s my emergency phone,” Stiles said, scooting out of bed past Derek and fishing in his backpack for the phone. It had stopped ringing, but there was a text message flashing in front of him from Scott. 

“What does it say?” Stiles heard from right behind him, Derek’s warm, human breath tickling his shoulder. 

“It’s from Scott,” Stiles said, not looking back at Derek as he spoke, both because Derek probably wasn’t covered, and because Stiles didn’t want to see Derek’s face as he spoke. “It says that we need to leave. It says that Scott figured out that your mom is after me now, and she tracked us here. She’s coming for me.” 


End file.
